Everybody Lies
by Potion
Summary: Four years after her "death", Kate returns fully alive - at least on the outside - and with a new outlook on the life she left behind. Rebuilding the bridges she's burned might have been easier if she didn't have to fight her own demons in the process.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or William Shakespeare or any of his plays (which is where the quote below is from, and where each of the similar quotes will be from).  
A/N: I've been wanting to do a story with the Shakespeare quotes at the beginning for a while now, and I got the idea for this story a few days ago, and voila. I thought that it could work. I want to make this multi-chaptered, but reading over it, I figure it can work as a one-shot as well. So, what do you think? I don't really want to write a whole long story if nobody reads, you know? Anyways, enjoy, and tell me what you think. (:

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_"Presume not that I am the thing I was;  
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,  
That I have turned away my former self."  
- Henry IV Part 2, William Shakespeare_

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**Everybody Lies.**

A million thoughts race through your mind a day, and over half of them have something to do with _why me?_

Part of you would like to believe it was because you were just _that_ beautiful, or amazing, or intoxicating, or whatever else you could be. Part of you wishes it was because out of you and the other options, you were the best bet. Part of you says it's just because you were the easiest target, and nothing deeper than that. But you can't fool yourself that easily. You know that it was because you were the easiest way to get to Gibbs - of course, there was always Abby, but after that day in the autopsy room, it just had to be you. You're sure that your background with the President didn't hurt, either.

When it comes down to it, though, you are slightly glad it was you. You know it _could _have been Abby, had she not been afraid of the autopsy room that morning. Granted, everything could have gone completely different if she had done what she had been asked. Maybe nobody would have been put in that position, or at least nobody that you know. You like to entertain that thought too, even though it makes the knowledge of _that will never happen_ so much harder to bear.

You finger the silver cross hanging around your neck nervously. You've been sitting in the Director's office for at least an hour now and you haven't even caught a glimpse of him. All you know is his name - Leon Vance - but you haven't even met him yet. The thought that you should already know him crosses your mind bitterly. You were supposed to come back years ago, back when Jenny was still in office.

Except then, she went and died and fucked the whole thing up.

Not that you aren't sad that she died or proud of your mission. She died too early and didn't deserve the death she got, but, well, that's life, right? And you did well on your mission. You completed it with flying colors, doing more than you were asked to. God knows there are some things you aren't proud of, but you did them and now you are the only one left who has any real knowledge of them. Very few people are still alive that know enough about the mission to even carry on a conversation about it and you have to admit you like it that way.

The Director walks in and you immediately sit up just a little straighter and let your hands fall to your lap. Something in you tells you that you have to show confidence. You can't let him know how nervous and uncomfortable you are.

"Agent Todd," he says, taking the seat in front of you, "it's an honor to meet you."

You relax simply at the way he says your name. It's been a while since your name has been used in such a friendly way on a regular basis. Sometimes you seem to forget that you are once again where you want to be and who you want to be. You smile and nod at him, and shake his hand once he extends it out to you.

"Thank you," you say politely, though all you really want to tell him is that no, it really isn't an honor for him to meet you. It's quite the opposite, in fact.

Vance leans back in his chair and grabs your file. Silence falls over you for a moment as he scans over the pages. "I'm afraid I had no knowledge of your assignment until just a few days ago," he says finally, setting the folder back onto the table.

"You weren't supposed to," you say. You notice that your fingers have once again found their way to the cold cross around your neck. He looks up at you and you wonder if you said something wrong. "You shouldn't have needed to," you clarify after a few seconds of his staring. "Jenny would have told you, if you had ever needed to know, but..."

"She died." You wonder why it's so hard for you to say out loud but he says it with such ease. Maybe you just aren't as good at pushing your emotions down as you thought.

You shrug. "Yeah." Another moment of silence passes between you and you suddenly feel weak - not physically, but emotionally. You thought you had become strong, stronger than maybe even Gibbs, but it seems that with every passing second you're proving yourself wrong. "It was a suicide mission." You keep your gaze focused on the window behind his head. "That was the only reason we used my death as an out. It wasn't supposed to matter because either way, I would've died. It was in the plans. Her death wasn't."

Vance nods as if he understands, but instead of comforting you this just makes you angrier. He doesn't understand, there's no way for him to. "Well, we've informed everyone of your return." Your breath hitches in your throat. This still feels like a dream to you - seeing them all again makes it real. You aren't quite sure if you're ready for this, or if they're ready for this, but you do know that you don't have much of a choice anymore. "I've told them bits and pieces of what you've been doing. It's not alot. The assignment was very top-secret."

"I know."

He sighs and stands, motioning for you to do the same. You do. You follow him to the door and nearly run into him when he suddenly stops, his hand resting on the door handle. Vance turns back to look at you. He studies your face for what feels like forever, then his expression softens.

"I don't know what you're expecting, Agent Todd, but..." He trails off slightly, and his tone seems to change so that it's nearly apologetic. "They aren't the same as they used to be."

You nod. You understand.

After all, you aren't the same as you used to be, either.

You follow him downstairs.

The team - your old team - is already waiting for you. A cold feeling wraps around you, and you have to keep your arms from reaching around for warmth. The cold isn't from the room, but rather from somewhere inside you, or that's what it feels like. You try to switch your focus to something else, and end up studying the looks on their faces. You can make out the surprise, the hurt, the confusion, the slight elation, the betrayal, the disbelief, the anger, and of course the stony-faced mask Gibbs has put on just for you.

You say nothing once you reach the bottom of the stairs. As much as you hate to compare something as innocent and safe as this to what you've been through the past few years, your brain has made the connection before you can tell it not to. You feel like you're on foreign soil, and you've learned that it's rarely ever a good idea to talk first in someone else's territory.

Now that you're in this moment, you can't remember what you were expecting to find. There's no way that you were expecting this to still feel like your safe haven, your second home. There's no way that you were expecting these people to still feel like your second family.

They all just stand there staring at you and you just stand there staring at them. Time ticks by until eventually you close your eyes and get ready to speak.

Then you feel somebody crushing your bones and making you struggle for air. Your initial reaction is to break free and try your best to survive, but once your eyes snap open and are met by a black pigtail you calm down. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Abby. God, you missed her. Tears prick at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall - you have gone roughly four years without crying and there's no way in hell that you plan to break that now. Instead you wrap your arms around your goth friend and squeeze. It's nothing like the pressure she's putting around you, but still, it's something.

You risk a glance up at the others. They seem shocked, almost betrayed, at this display, so you close your eyes as tightly as you can and bury your head in the crook between her neck and shoulder, willing yourself not to cry.

She pulls away all too soon but you're in no position to keep holding on, so you just let her go. She smiles at you and it's in this moment that you realize she's crying and there's a huge puddle on your own shirt. You feel like your own tears are finally about to fall but you let your eyes close slowly and just _breathe, breathe, breathe _until they start to ease away.

Before your eyes reopen you feel another pair of arms wrap around you. This time it's gentle and almost hesitant. You're about to look to see who it is when Ducky's soft, comforting voice whispers into your ear "it's okay to cry" and you're telling him "no, it's not." He squeezes you gently before letting you go and giving you a sad smile. It suddenly hits you that he had to know about this, too. He had to have known that your body had not been the one laying on his autopsy table. You wonder if he was in on the entire mission. It wouldn't surprise you in the least bit; you had always thought there was more to Ducky than he let on.

McGee gives you a hesitant hug and you find yourself smiling. You figure that he's only doing it because Abby and Ducky have, but that doesn't bother you. He seems unsure of what to do and that makes you feel a little bit better because you don't know what you're supposed to be doing, either.

Jimmy gives you a small nod when he sees you looking at him. He looks scared and surprised and unsure. You feel bad for him; he must not know what to think. You're supposed to be _dead,_ and he had seen your (_supposed_) body lying on Ducky's table.

You look away when you feel Gibbs lay a hand on your shoulder. You look up at him, but he just leans down towards you. "We'll talk later," he whispers into your ear, before simply turning to go back to his desk.

That leaves Ziva - your replacement - and Tony.

"Ziva," you say, forcing all emotion out of your voice. "It's nice to meet you." She simply nods. Looking into her eyes, something in you clicks - you know those eyes.

Your gaze migrates to Tony. He meets your eyes before turning and walking away, and even though it hurts, you can't say that you blame him.

----

It would have been easier if you had died. If the assignment had gone the way everyone had assumed it would and you had ended up dead, it would have been easier on not just you, but everyone. They wouldn't have to know that they've been lied to for the past four years and they could keep moving on with their lives. You feel like you're just screwing up their perfect little world. You feel like you're fucking up the life they've all worked so hard to get.

And then, of course it would have made everything easier on the people who would have killed you. No matter how much people say it's a lie, revenge truly is sweet. You think that you just might know this better than anyone.

You turn the water on and splash some on your face. It's cold and makes you shiver, but what's it matter? You already look like shit. There's a little bit of barely visible yellow remaining under your left eye from that black eye you had, and standing out even more than that is the diagonal scar by the corner of that same eye. Your face is paler than you remember, and it contrasts with your dark hair, even as dull as it is. Your bottom lip is still busted; it's been two weeks, and you're more than ready for it to go down. Oh, yeah, and you aren't wearing any make-up. It's been a little under four years since you've worn any, so it shouldn't bother you, but somehow it still does.

The door swings open and you break your gaze away from the mirror to see Ziva walking in. You aren't sure how you are supposed to treat her, so you simply turn back to the sink and turn the water off.

She stops beside you at the sink and you finally turn to look at her. "Why did you -" she begins, but you shake your head and she stops.

"Classified," you say simply. You know she was going to ask why you agreed to the mission.

She looks at you like she doesn't believe you, her eyes scanning your face carefully. After a few moments of scrutiny she shrugs and turns away.

She's at the stall door when she stops and turns back to look at you. "I am sorry about Ari," she says, her voice emotionless and detached.

"Sorry?" you repeat. Why should she be sorry about him? You know for a fact that she is the one who killed him, and you're glad that the bastard is dead. You should be thanking her, not having her apologize to you.

"Yes." She turns away from your gaze. "I know now about... the two of you."

The two of you? What the hell is she talking about? You're just about to ask when it dawns on you - Vance didn't tell them the truth. He lied. He told them that you were _dating Ari. _Maybe it was to save you an ounce of dignity, or to make you tell them yourself, or just because he didn't want to get into it, but that must have been what he told them.

"No," you say softly. "Don't - don't apologize." She tilts her head to the side and looks at you, confusion etched on her face. You take in a deep breath. "I just... You know what? Thank you."

Ziva continues to look at you with that confused expression, so you just nod at her, give her a small smile, and walk out.

---

You find yourself in the elevator. You can't control the shaking and your racing heart beat, and you don't even know why you're heading down here, but you are. You shouldn't be. It's not the same place anymore, because you aren't the same person and she's not the same person and there's all of this _stuff _between you, all of the past four years, but for some reason you decide to go anyway.

The elevators slide open and you step out, hesitantly walking into the lab. Abby's lab. You want some of the old comfort you used to know, but standing in the doorway, you realize it just isn't going to happen.

You force a mask onto your face, making your muscles relax and your expression go emotionless, then step completely into the lab. The music you hadn't realized you missed fills your ears and the scent you had all but forgotten about hits you full-force. You remember all of the hours you had spent in this lab with Abby once-upon-a-time, just talking and laughing and making plans as the two of you waited for test results, a new case, or Gibbs to find you and make you get back to work. You run your fingers along the cold metal table you used to sit on while Abby ran around, pressing buttons on the machines and talking about something completely different from the original conversation.

Tears prick at your eyes, and you're not sure whether it's because of the memories or what's happened or Ari and the lies or just because you can't handle all of this or if it's a mixture of _everything, _but you still force them back the best that you can. The truth is that all you want to do is cry, but you refuse to show yourself - and more importantly, everyone else - that sort of weakness.

A hand comes down on your shoulder and you tense up automatically. Your hand slowly and carefully reaches for your gun before you even have time to think.

"You okay, Kate?" Abby's voice floats into your ears and your hand, which had nearly reached your gun, falls limp. You scold yourself - you need to stop being so damn paranoid. You're safe now, and it's only Abby. You sigh as the thoughts run through your mind: _what has this done to me?_

You force a smile onto your face, hoping all evidence of tears is gone, and nod.

"Vance told us why they picked you," she says after what feels like an eternity, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Is it.. true?"

"Is what true?" you ask, leaning against the table for support.

"You and Ari."

Just the sound of your names together makes you feel sick to your stomach. At least Ziva hadn't said it out loud - it was so much easier to deal with that way. You grab onto the table as your legs start to feel like they'll give out on you at any second. "I -" You start to speak, but the room starts to spin and the water builds up in your eyes and you can't finish. You wonder why you have to be so weak, why you can't be strong like all of these other people you know (_knew?_).

You feel her arms wrap around you and she whispers words into your ears that you can't quit make out.

You swallow hard and force the only answer you know to use out of your mouth - "_yes."_

You feel her nodding against the back of your head as she continues to whisper those words of comfort. You wish you could tell her the truth, but it would only make you feel more broken and her feel even sorrier for you, make them all feel sorry for you - you don't want that, you can't have that, not so soon. You feel so bad for lying to her, especially when she starts to rub circles on your back, but you can't bring yourself to tell her the truth. The truth would only hurt you and her even more and right now, you can't deal with that. Not yet.

It's not a lesson that you want her to have to learn, but you know that she'll have to eventually. Who are you to try to prove it wrong?

After all, you know it just as well as anyone. You have seen it proven true time after time after time.

_Everybody lies._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As you can see, I've decided to make this an actual story. I'm not entirely sure exactly where I want it to go quite yet, but I have some ideas swirling around in my head. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. (:

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_"Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance."  
- The Winter's Tale, William Shakespeare_

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**Everybody Lies, Chapter 2.  
**

Your eyes flutter open and, for a moment, you aren't sure where you are or what you're doing there. Your head is resting on something soft, and your hand is holding onto something warm, and all you can see is silver. Where in the hell are you?

You blink a few times, trying to get the sleep out of your eyes. A yawn escapes your lips and when your eyes are fully opened again, you sit up and look around. And suddenly you remember. This is Abby's lab. You must have fallen asleep on her while you were crying; she must have fallen asleep while you were sleeping. You run a hand through your hair, silently thanking God that you hadn't had any nightmares.

Abby begins to stir, and you scoot back so that you aren't touching her. Her eyes slowly open and she looks around for a minute before her eyes stop on you. Then she stretches, yawns, and pushes herself to her feet. You stand up after she does. You aren't sure what to do, and you hate all of this uncertainty you've been feeling lately. All thoughts running through your brain are looking for an excuse to get out of here.

She gives you a sad smile. "You know, Kate--" she begins, but then her phone rings.

She goes to answer it, saying something about it being important as she turns away from you. She looks back at you while she's talking, and you show her a few hand signals as you back up towards the door. She gets your message and nods, flashing you a small smile, before turning her back on you and returning to her conversation.

You let out the breath you were holding once you are safely out of her lab. You stand outside the elevator, debating whether or not to use it. Where do you plan to go, anyway? You aren't up for an awkward silence, or - even worse - an awkward conversation, in the confined elevator with no means of escape. You don't want to run into anybody, not right now.

So you choose the stairs. You walk up them slowly, allowing yourself time to think. You don't know how you feel about the crying fest you just had on Abby's shoulder. There's some guilt and embarrassment there, but you also feel ashamed and helpless. You know you shouldn't - she had practically offered you her shoulder, after all - but you do. You can't help it.

You wonder if maybe you'd feel better talking to Ducky. He knew, you know that he knew. He _had_ to have known. How couldn't he? You want to talk to him, but you aren't sure what you would say. What if he really _didn't_ know?

You want to talk to Tony, too. But you're at even more of a loss for words with him than with Ducky, and you know that he's mad at you. He has every right to be, so you don't blame him. They're all upset with you, even Abby. You can tell. Except for maybe Ducky, and that's only because he knew.

Plus, you have to talk to Gibbs. You don't really want to, only because you know he's going to ask questions - or maybe not ask questions so much as demand answers - but you have to. He deserves answers, even if you can't give them to him.

You hear the footsteps too late; mere moments after they register in your brain, you are standing face-to-face with Tony. He sees you and he stops, standing as still as a statue before you.

All of those things you want to tell him start to run through your mind. You want to explain yourself, tell him sorry, let him know the truth about Ari, tell him some of the things you've done so maybe he can understand, tell him that you've missed him and have been thinking about him and you don't want him to hate you - anything and everything so that maybe, just maybe, he won't be so mad. So you can try to get back to where you were with him four years ago. It's an impossible dream but it's one you have anyway. But none of these ideas, none of these words that could help you, come out of your mouth. Your head is full of all these words but all you can say is, "Hey."

He still just looks at you. You feel self-conscious under his gaze. _What does he keep looking at?_

"Tony, I --" you try, but he shakes his head and you stop. He looks at you silently for at least another minute before he says anything.

"You were _sleeping_ with _Ari_," he says harshly, the disgust and fury evident in not just his tone but his face as well.

It surprises you at first how hateful he sounds. This isn't the Tony you remember, but Director Vance did warn you... You quickly open your mouth to reply as he begins to speak again. You don't want to hear what else he has to say, not before you get your part in. "No," you say firmly. "Well..." Your voice wavers. "Sort of."

_Fuck. _Now you'll have to tell him. _Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?_ you wonder bitterly.

"'Sort of?'" he repeats. "Just like you were 'sort of' dead? Just like you were 'sort of' going to date me? Just like you were 'sort of' --"

You don't want to hear this. You don't want to listen to him blame you for everything. You can't handle it. You can put up with a lot, but you are not going to let him talk to you like this, even though you've given him every reason to be mad at you.

"He was sleeping with me. I wasn't sleeping with him."

"It's not a one person ga--" Tony stops short, cutting off the last half of whatever he was going to say as realization covers his face. His lips part slightly as his jaw goes slack and his eyes widen, and he goes back to just looking at you. He almost looks guilty, or ashamed, of what he had just said. "You mean, he...?" He won't even look at you in the eyes now. Should you be feeling as bad for him as you do?

"Yes."

So much for lying.

He keeps looking at you. He opens his mouth a few times but no sound comes out, and you shift your weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. You want him to say something, but you know there's very little that he could say and very little that you really _want_ him to say. Honestly, you just want to forget about it. You want to push the memories as far back in your mind as possible.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, his gaze focused on your shoes. You really wish he'd look up, except for the fact that you don't want to look him in the eye that much, either. Your shoes aren't that interesting, though, and you move your feet in the hopes that maybe he'll stop looking at them. He doesn't.

"Don't be," you say simply, briefly wondering how many times in one day people will tell you 'sorry' and you will tell them not to be. _Sorry_ is a word that you can honestly say you hate; it's overused and holds barely any meaning, and you find yourself resenting the word more and more every time you hear it. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, but--"

_Can't he just drop the damn subject?_

"But nothing." It comes out harsher than you intended, but you don't want to talk about it anymore. You want to talk about something else, _anything _else. And so you try a lame, "How have you been?"

Tony finally lifts his head back up to look at you, but it's not at all like you wanted. If you had seen him looking at someone else like this you would have thought that whoever he was talking to had grown a second head. He opens his mouth and starts to speak but quickly stops his sentence. You figure he was going to say something sarcastic - "You mean after I got over your death?" or something - then thought better of it. He takes another moment to respond, maybe trying to figure out what the best answer is so that you don't get mad.

"Fine." _Really, now?_ You hate that answer just about as much as you hate 'sorry'. 'Fine' is the word you use when you run into someone on the sidewalk that you don't really like and don't really want to talk to, but you have to at least _acknowledge _them and pretend to care. You aren't some person on the sidewalk that he doesn't really like. _Right?_

"That's good." You don't know what to say. You still have all of these thoughts flying around in your head at a million miles per hour but you can't vocalize any of them - hell, you can't even hold on to them long enough to rationalize them. "So, uh," you start, thought you still aren't sure how to word what you want to say, "have you found - gotten - I mean... Have you settled down yet?" God, if he didn't already think you were an idiot for showing up...

He tenses, and again he avoids your gaze. He hasn't said anything and you don't know how you're supposed to take it. It could mean yes, he's found someone he thinks he can commit to, but now that he's found out that you're alive he feels guilty about it. It could mean no, he's suddenly turned gay (though you doubt that). Or it could mean no, but he's done a bunch of stupid shit that he knows you wouldn't be happy about.

It feels like years have ticked by and he still remains silent. "Tony?"

He looks back at you. "Yes."

For a moment you don't know if he's saying yes trying to be sarcastic because you called his name, or if he's saying yes to your earlier question. But the way he looks back down after a second tells you without a doubt that he was indeed answering your question. He's moved on.

It shouldn't bother you. He thought you were _dead__._ They had warned you about this sort of thing when they told you that you were going on the assignment. They had told you that everybody would think you were dead and that they would _move on. _It hadn't bothered you then - no, that's a lie; it had bothered you, you had only forced yourself to get over it - but at the same time you thought that you really would end up dead. You weren't supposed to return. You were supposed to die there, and they would have done God knows what with your body, and if it weren't for the cover story you never would have gotten a proper burial because nobody would have even known you were dead.

You aren't mad about it. Not at all. You aren't really sure what to call what it is that you feel right now. Your heart feels like it's about to beat right out of your chest and your hands are sweating like no other and your head suddenly feels empty. All of those thoughts that were there just a few moments ago are suddenly nowhere to be found. You can feel another headache coming on and you really, really need some Tylenol or ibuprofen or, better yet, something that will knock you right out. You don't want to think or feel right now.

You wish that you hadn't asked that question. You wonder why you did in the first place. What did you expect? That he hasn't looked at anyone in four years just because the woman he shared _one _kiss with and had _one _dinner date plan with had suddenly died? You shouldn't feel so lost and empty and _heartbroken. _You may have had very little to do as far as dating goes in the past four years but he sure as hell didn't, and you can't be upset because he moved on. You can't. You can't let yourself.

"Good. I'm glad for you." You keep your voice as steady as you can, but you still notice that it was shaking slightly at the beginning. You don't need that; you don't need to make him feel guilty for living his life. You don't want to lie, but you can't tell him the truth, either. It's for his own good. It's for your own good. Hell, it's for the good of everybody if you just let him and them keep going on with their lives. They've taken a hundred steps forward. You can't make them start walking backwards.

He doesn't say anything. He just shoves his hands in his pockets and swallows hard. You know he feels bad. You run a hand through your hair as you try to think of a way to make this easier for him. It might make it harder for you, but that's a risk you've just got to take.

"That's good, Tony," you repeat softly. "It's good that you moved on."

"Why couldn't you tell us?" he asks, his head snapping up and his eyes finally meeting your's. The sudden question catches you off-guard. You hadn't expected it - you should have, but you didn't.

"I couldn't, Tony. I wasn't allowed to." If it's possible your heart starts beating even faster, and your hands have once again latched themselves on the cross around your neck. It was so much easier to hide your nervousness when you didn't have anything to fiddle with.

"You could have found a way," he argues. "You could have found some way to sneak it to us. You could have let us know you were still alive. We could have _known _and then none of this would have had to happen, not like this."

You're surprised to see the passion and the hurt in his eyes. You're even more surprised to feel the anger rising in you.

"No, Tony, I couldn't have."

"You could have, though, Kate! You could have written a note. You could have left some kind of hints. And then I would have waited for you, and we could be here right now like we would have been four years ago, and everything would be... Everything would be the way it was supposed to be."

You swear there are tears in his eyes and it makes you want to cry, too. But he's accusing you and blaming you and putting it all off on _you _and all you can think about is how _angry _he's making you.

"You don't get it, do you?" You had tried to keep the anger out of your voice and speech but that attempt seems so futile now. That's just another thing you've failed at. "I shouldn't _be_ here right now! There shouldn't have been anything for you to wait on. If everything had gone the way it was _supposed _to, the way everybody _thought _it would, I shouldn't be looking at you right now. I shouldn't be breathing. None of you should even know that I didn't die four years ago because I should be dead anyway! If I had told you, Tony, and everything had gone the way everyone predicted then you would be waiting on a fucking_ corpse_, because chances are nobody would even know I had died. That's just the way it was. I should be dead right now but instead I'm standing here listening to you tell me I should have told you!"

He doesn't say anything and you suddenly feel bad for blowing up like you did. You could have said and done worse and you know it, but the look on his face and the way he's resorted back to not even looking at you makes you feel worse than you have in years. You want to cry and have him hold you or just disappear again, or find some way to apologize, but you can't. You can't do any of that because you know crying won't fix it, him holding you will just make things complicated, disappearing would just make things harder on you and them, and apologizing never does any real good, not in the long run.

"Tony, I.." You don't know what to say or do and you feel bad about that. You want to make things better, you want to tell him that you were supposed to live all along and you don't know why you said that you were supposed to die. You want to tell him it was all just one big, stupid lie that you didn't mean.

"You were supposed to die?" he asks hesitantly. His voice cracks and you know, you _know _that he's trying hard not to cry. "They sent you even though they thought you would _die? _How is that _right?"_

You shrug even though you know he won't see it. "Yeah. But they send soldiers to Iraq all of the time, too, and --"

"That's not the same, Kate."

"I know."

You don't know why you even bothered to say it. It's not the same, it really isn't. There are similarities, sure, but it's still different, and it's not like it would help anyone feel any better.

You both turn as footsteps echo through the stairwell, waiting in silence for whoever it is to reach you. Finally Ziva appears. She steps up beside Tony and you notice him tense slightly. She stands just close enough to touch him, her arm pressed lightly against his.

She looks between the two of you. "Is something wrong?" she asks, and you shake your head even though you know she was talking to Tony. You want to give him time to clear the tears out of his eyes before he looks up at Ziva - except to him she's not just Ziva. You know this now. She's his _girlfriend, _if not more than that. You hope it's not more than that.

"I was just leaving," you say after a moment. You walk up to Tony, and debate whether or not to touch him. Your hand is out and ready to rest on his shoulder when you decide not to. It falls limp beside your hip and he just looks at you, a silent, wet apology in his eyes. You force a smile onto your face and start to walk up the stairs.

You've gone up maybe three or four stairs before you turn back around. "I'm happy for you, Tony," you tell him softly before starting up again.

_Everybody lies._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, and that it's shorter than the others. I'm not too happy/proud of this one. It was harder to write than the first two chapters, plus we had EOCs this week, and it didn't come out anywhere near how I wanted it to. Hopefully I'll have another chapter or two up soon. Anyways, enjoy, and tell me what you think! (:

* * *

_"Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;  
Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,  
Set in a notebook, learn'd, and conn'd be rote."  
- Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare_

* * *

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 3.**

The cold air hits you as soon as you step outside. With your head down, you quickly walk towards the sidewalk, leaving the NCIS building behind you. You hurried out here as fast as you could after that awkward and revealing encounter in the stairwell. It's not a memory you really want to keep reliving, but you can't seem to get it off your mind. Every thought you use to get away from that topic somehow seems to lead right back to it. You hate that, but from the looks of it, it's not something you are going to have much luck controlling. You've spent so much time thinking lately that it's going to be hard to break the habit.

You soon find yourself caught up in the bustle of people out on lunch break. Nobody except a guy you nearly ran into has given you so much as a second glance and you find that you like that feeling. There isn't a single person around you that knows who you are or what you've done and quite frankly, none of them really care if you're dead or alive. You could end up dying tomorrow and nobody walking past you right now would recognize you, not even that man who spent a good two seconds giving you a death glare. Nobody on this sidewalk would say more than "That's so sad" about the situation, and that would only be if it was shocking or brutal enough to make it onto the news.

You like the anonymity. You like the distance. You like being around people who don't care at all versus the people who used to care and the people who only care to see you lying in front of them without a pulse. Neither of those options appeal to you anymore. These people around you now - the ones who don't care, never will, and never have - make you feel so much more comfortable and at ease.

Some foolish part of you thought this would all be easy. Something in you kept saying everybody would be okay with it, that they would quickly let you back into their fulfilling lives and fragile hearts. You kept telling yourself that you would be able to forget and they would be able to forget and everybody could be happy.

Now you aren't sure if that part of you was being optimistic or just plain stupid. If it was optimism, you wish they had managed to beat that out of you. It's nothing but false hope, and you know that now. If it was stupidity, well, that wouldn't surprise you at all. You've been feeling like the world's biggest dumbass lately.

As a breeze starts, you thank your lucky stars that you decided to grab your coat on the way out. It is a lot colder here than you remember it being and you aren't sure if you like it or not. It's a nice change from the stifling heat you have gotten used to, but at the same time the small gusts of wind and the frigid air have you nearly shaking. You hope that it won't take a long time to get used to this weather, because like it or not, you know you have to stay here for a while. You can't just walk away.

You want to, though. You want to pack your things and just get the hell out. You could get somebody in the government to give you a new identity and just _leave._ You could forget your past and focus on your future. A nice, clean start is all you need. A second try at life.

_No, third._

This, right here, these moments you're living - _this _is your second try. Your second chance. And hardly anybody ever gives second chances anymore - _who am I to expect a third?_

You stop walking and lean against the wall of some old brick building. Four years ago, it wasn't "some old brick building." You probably knew what store it is, but now, you can't remember. Four years ago you knew the name of the street in front of you. You knew where all the good restaurants were and how to get to them. You knew what stores had the cheapest prices and the best stuff. And you knew which coffee shop had the best lattes, and you knew the name of the kid behind the counter and all of her problems because you went there everyday before work and sometimes even during, if you had time and really needed a pick-me-up.

You've spent four years trying your best to protect, to help, and to save. Four fucking years and now you feel like you can't remember a damn thing that you used to.

You don't even know who it was you were trying to protect. You can't think of a single person you helped and it sure as hell doesn't feel like you saved anybody.

Your fist connects with the bricks before you've even realized that you swung. You curse under your breath as it starts to sting, barely noticing the people who have stopped their busy lives for the few moments it takes to stare at you. Blood is slowly starting to leave from the cuts in your knuckles and it's all you can look at.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder and your eyes slowly close. Your muscles tense as you ready yourself to turn around; your hands have already curled back into fists.

"Kate." Tony's voice floats into your ears and, forcing a smile onto your face, you turn around. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks harshly. The words have barely left his mouth before he's grabbing your bleeding hand and holding it up so he can look at it.

You pull your hand away and shove it into your pocket. "It's fine," you mutter.

"Don't be like that," he says, and this time he almost sounds desperate. Like he's _begging _you. "I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need help," you reply. _I don't want to be weak._

You turn to walk away but he grabs your arm and spins you back around to face him. His eyes now have a glint of anger in them and you wonder what exactly it was that you said to hit a nerve.

"This is hard on us, too, okay?" Anger is just as present in his voice as it is in his eyes. His hand doesn't leave your arm; his grip instead tightens, and you hold back a wince at the pain. "You aren't the only one who's hurting here. We've been through shit, too. You can't just waltz back in and expect everything to be the same as it used to be! But you just want everybody to know what you've been through, don't you? You just_ have_ to tell everybody about your assignment and Ari and being a captive."

No. You didn't want _any_body to know.

And you can't trust anybody.

And nobody seems to care.

"But what about everyone else? Have you even asked about them? About me? About what _we_'ve been through? Or do you even care? Don't you think we've been through our own shit? Stuff you've never had to deal with?"

"I--"

"Do you know what it's like to lose somebody you love, Kate? I do! I've had to deal with it _three_ fucking times!"

_I've lost more than you realize, Tony._

"Do you know what it's like to be tortured? Ziva and McGee do!"

_No, Tony, they liked to give me hugs and lollipops._

"Do you know what it's like to be stalked? Well, you can ask Abby!"

_I don't have to._

"Tony--" you try again, but he still won't let you finish.

"No, Kate," he continues, his voice rising. "We all thought you were dead! You've been through your hell and we've been through ours. And I'm happy with Ziva, okay? She makes me happy!"

"I told you I was happy for you."

"No, you aren't. Believe it or not, I'm not stupid! I can tell when you're lying. I'm happy, so just - just fuck off, okay, Kate?" His eyes are pleading with you to just listen to him, to just do as he says and leave him alone. He takes a step backwards, shaking his head at you, before turning around and walking off.

You try to reach out for him but he has already disappeared into the multitudes of people. Oh, well. You don't blame him. You should have known. Yyou can't cross bridges that you've burned. And you were stupid to think that you could.

You strike out against the wall one more time.

----

It's nearly half an hour after you lunch break was supposed to end when you finally walk back into the NCIS building. Does it even matter, though? You aren't really sure if you work for NCIS anymore - well, you know that you _do_, you just aren't sure where or what you do now.

You step off the elevator as some young agent you've never seen before steps on. _So much has changed here._ That thought has gone through your mind more times than you could count in the past few hours, but you can't help it. You don't feel like a part of this world anymore. You don't miss being overseas, not exactly, but you _do _miss that sense of purpose and reason you had while you were over there. You felt like there was a meaning to your life, like you had a reason to be alive. Like you were actually _doing _something. You don't have that feeling here.

Ducky looks up as you step into the autopsy room. "Ah, Caitlin! How nice of you to join us," he says with a smile, walking up to you. Jimmy looks up at the sound of your name, and though he's not as pale as earlier, he still doesn't look like he's really gotten a grasp on the situation yet. You feel bad for him.

You give Ducky a small smile. "Couldn't stay away," you try to joke, but the words feel fake and forced as they leave your mouth. You look down for a moment as silence covers the room, then hold up your hand up to eye level. "Can you look at this for me, Ducky?" you ask. After the words are out of your mouth, you find yourself wondering if it's okay to call him Ducky, or should you have stuck with Dr. Mallard?

He nods, so you figure it was okay to call him Ducky. That's his name, after all, isn't it? Sort of. You sigh at your own thoughts as he leads you over to a table. He pats on it, signaling for you to sit, and you do. He grabs your hand gently, looking over it.

"Mr. Palmer," he says, without looking away from your hand, "could you get me a wet washcloth, please?" A few seconds pass, and then Jimmy is handing Ducky exactly what he asked for. Ducky uses it to wash away the blood that has dried on your skin, and you wince at the few times he has to apply pressure. "What did you do?" His words come out as more of a whisper, and you think that maybe he's just talking to himself, so you don't say anything. He wraps your cuts in gauze, then gently presses against your wrist. You can't help but hiss in pain. He does it a few more times, trying to feel the position of your bones. Then, finally, he says, "I think you may have broken your wrist."

"Really?"

Ducky nods. "You'll have to go to a different doctor for a cast, and I suggest you do that soon. I had a cousin who broke his wrist once, and he didn't go to the doctor for quite a few days, even though he knew something was wrong. When he did finally go--"

You've missed his stories. You never noticed, but in this moment, you know that you did. You can't remember much of any other story he's told, and you wish that you could. You make a mental note to pay more attention when he starts rambling. Even as you do this, you find yourself interrupting.

"Hey, Ducky?" you ask tentatively.

"Yes, Caitlin?"

"Did you know that I was.. that I wasn't dead? You had to know, right?"

His expression changes to one of pity. His eyes shine with guilt and sadness. His lips are turned up slightly, but it's not a happy smile. It's sad, sympathetic.

"I didn't know." His hand rests on your knee and he looks into your eyes. "I didn't know," he repeats, and you feel tears spring into your eyes.

Because you _do _know.

_Everybody lies._

It's just easier to deal with when you can't tell.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews so far, they make me feel special. (: I really want to go into more detail about the assignment soon, but I'm not too sure about doing a big, long flashback. So just so you know, there will be more info about what Kate's been doing (not everything, of course, but some of it) somewhere in the next few chapters, once I find a good/creative enough to work it in. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

_"I was adored once, too."  
- The Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare_

* * *

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 4.**

"Well, there you go, Ms. Todd," the doctor says kindly, gently patting your new cast. "I'll need you to come back in three weeks for another x-ray, but other than that, you should be okay."

You pull your arm back towards your lap and nod. "Thank you," you murmur, running a finger up and down the green material. Your eyes are locked on the handiwork of Dr. Roberts, the cast that he just finished setting for you. "When do I get it off?" you ask, finally tearing your eyes from it and looking into his face.

He smiles at you, his teeth barely visible - you wonder why, his teeth are whiter than any you've ever seen before - and glances at the clipboard on his lap. "About six weeks," he answers. "But that's if everything goes how we expect it to. Depending on what we see in three weeks, you may get it off earlier or later."

"Right." Six weeks with your arm stuck in a cast? You sigh. _This isn't going to be fun._ And it's your right arm, too - _I'm going to have to learn how to write with my left hand, _you realize bitterly.

You slide off the exam table, using your left hand to push off, and it's just as your feet are about to hit the floor that he stops you. His hand barely touches your knee and he mumbles something that sounds slightly like "hold on a moment", so you push yourself back up. He flips through the few pages attached to his clipboard, biting down on his lower lip and making clicking noises with his tongue. You squirm slightly, making the paper rattle. You wince as the noise fills the room; you've always hated that stupid paper.

Finally, Dr. Roberts looks back up at you. He runs a hand through his gray hair before plastering that small smile back on his face. "Ms. Todd, looking at your x-rays"-his blue eyes move from you back to the clipboard, where you can see his sloppy handwriting covering a light yellow slip of paper-"it seems that you have broken your wrist before, but it's not in your medical records?" It sounds slightly like a statement, and slightly like a question, so you aren't sure if he's telling you or asking.

"It's possible," you reply with a shrug of your shoulders. "I don't know, really." Mentally, you wince at how stupid you sound - how is he supposed to understand that you really _don't _know if you've broken your wrist?

He nods. "There were just some inconsistencies, that's all," he says, as if it's supposed to make you feel better. You very easily _could _have broken your wrist before. It unnerves you slightly to think about all of the different injuries you could have sustained without even knowing about them. "It shouldn't be too much of a problem," he adds. "It might take longer for it to heal, and it might be a little bit more painful than usual." He bites down on his lip. "You sure you didn't know?"

You shake your head. "I'm sure," you answer, probably a little more hatefully than you should have.

"Alright." Dr. Roberts flips the papers back over the clipboard and starts to stand. "I suppose that's all, then." He looks over you carefully, then sighs. "Lisa out front will take your information and set up another appointment for you." You can only imagine what he's thinking - and you know he's thinking _something, _with the way he's looking at you.

You nod and slide off the table again, trying your best to ignore the rustle of the wax paper. "Thank you," you say politely as you follow him out the door. He just nods, hands you a slip of paper, and walks in the other direction.

You walk to the front desk, and hand the woman you can only assume is Lisa the piece of paper that Dr. Roberts gave you. She smiles at you, a smile you figure she gives just about every patient that walks in. She types a few things into the computer, asks you a couple of basic information questions, then starts printing out the receipt.

She holds the piece of paper in her hand, then hesitantly asks, "Do you need help? We have brochures about domestic violence, as well as--"

"Excuse me?" you ask incredulously.

"Dr. Roberts said he had reason to believe you have been domestically abused," Lisa explains. "Maybe I should have asked first, so you weren't so shocked, but--"

"I wasn't domestically abused." Your back once again straightens and you hold your head just a little bit higher. "Can I have my receipt now?"

She hands you the piece of paper with a sigh and an apology, though you can tell she doesn't mean a word that's coming out of her mouth. You turn on your heel and walk away as you shove the receipt into your purse.

----

Where do you belong?

You've stopped right outside the elevator. You made sure to step to the side so people can get in and out, but you haven't moved in at least five minutes. You've been staring at the bullpen, at their perfectly constructed family, their complete order. Everyone has their place and everyone has their say and it doesn't just end at the desks. Even though, yes, they have those, too; Tony and McGee and Gibbs all have the same desks that you remember, and Ziva has the one you used to occupy.

You scoff at yourself. _What the hell am I doing here?_

It doesn't just end at the desks. Gibbs is the father - there to teach, there to help, there to protect. Tony is the big brother, annoying but protective and loyal. McGee is the little brother, sweet and shy and willing to do whatever he can to help. Ziva is - well, you want to say that Ziva is the sister, independent and strong but vulnerable, keeping her feelings at a distance.

Except why would a brother date his sister?

You sigh as your metaphor, or simile, or whatever the hell it is, starts to crumble. You run a hand through your hair. _Well, they aren't_ really_ family, _you tell yourself, and decide,_ yeah, that makes it work._

And then you look again at the perfection that is their system, their life, their job, and you feel your nose start to sting the way it always does when tears are ready to start forming in your eyes. Did you_ ever_ have a real place here?

You hold the tears back. Of course you had a place here, you were here for two whole years, you had to have had a place here, you keep telling yourself these things over and over and over (even though part of you keeps screaming _no no no no no, never never never, not like this_). There's only so much you can try to tell yourself before it all falls apart and the truth starts rearing its ugly head at you.

Because they are a family, in some way or another.

You were just the stepping stone, the person that God or destiny or what_ever_ threw in, so that they could find their perfection. So that they could find _Ziva_ and move on.

You weren't a part of this family; you never have been and you never will be. You realize this now. After all, Ziva's overtaken your life. She's got your desk, your job, your friends, and Tony. You can't just forget family like that, can you? You're sure that if Ziva died right _now, _in this instant, nobody would ever be allowed into their lives like she was. You're sure that whoever her replacement would be would never get that desk, would never be accepted like she has been, would never be viewed like she is, and would _never_ have a chance in hell with Tony.

But she got all of that. You just weren't a part of their family.

You wonder if you'll ever be a part of a family. You never even really felt like a part of your _own_ family. You were pretty close to your little sister, but that's it. Hell, you don't even know if they know you're _alive._

Which brings you back to your question: Where do you belong?

Nowhere is the only answer you can come up with, and it sends shivers down your spine. You belong nowhere. You don't belong anywhere. You don't belong with any_one. _You don't have a place in this whole world.

And then - stop. You backtrack in your mind a few steps, go through your thoughts again, and then - stop. You can think of two places you belong, two places in this whole world that want you and that are waiting for you, two places that want you for _who you are._ One of those places is in that dirty, empty, closed-in room halfway across the globe that they found you in a few weeks ago with groups of men and women beating the hell out of you. The other place is six feet under the ground in a coffin with a tombstone right over your head.

Yes, you belong somewhere.

But you would rather not belong anywhere.

----

The sun sets and you watch it from the window. You're halfway seated on the windowsill with your chin resting on your shoulder so you can look out. The position is starting to hurt your neck but you refuse to move. The falling sun is painting the sky with shades of reds and oranges and purples and yellows, and you just want to _watch. _For all of your life you've always hated those stupid metaphors people make up about themselves and nature and how they're like a rock or the ocean or some other shit, but now you see where they're coming from.

You see yourself like you see the sun. You're falling - or have you already fallen? you can't tell anymore - and so many people are watching you. You're changing everything around you, seeing it in a whole new light. And then one day, you'll rise again. _Although someday, even the world must end, _you think before you can even control it. And that just shatters all the optimism you had.

Well, you told yourself before that optimism is just false hope, right?

You'd almost forgotten that other people are in the room until Ziva comes and sits down next to you. You take your gaze away from the setting sun and instead focus on her. You watch her curiously; what the hell is she doing and what the hell does Tony see in her?

Okay, that's mean. You reprimand yourself in your thoughts, closing your eyes for a moment then looking back at her.

"What happened to your arm?" she asks finally. You want to laugh. Seriously, now?

"I broke my wrist." You don't want to be mean, but you don't want to talk to her, either.

"How?" she prods.

"The bone cracked." It's not the answer she was wanting and you both know it, but at least she takes the hint and just nods. You suddenly feel very childish for hitting a wall, especially like you did - well, childish or stupid. You haven't decided yet.

Both of you are silent for a few moments. You're waiting for her to say what she wanted to say or just leave, and she looks like she's trying to figure out what to say.

You hear Ziva sigh a split-second before you hear her voice. "Look, about Tony..." She starts to trail off and again, you want to laugh. Is she just waiting for you to say something so she doesn't have to finish her sentence?

Lucky for her, you do. "It's fine" is all you say, but still, it's something.

"I know that you were--"

"It's _fine_," you repeat.

"Kate, I wanted to say--"

"I don't care." You cringe mentally when you realize how the words must sound to her, so you sigh and start to explain, if only just a little bit. "I don't care what you have to say," you begin, and you realize how bad that sounds, too, and her face hardens into a mask you're sure she's spent her whole life perfecting. "I had a chance with him, shit happened, and now here we are. That's all there is to it." That's not all there is to it, not really, not to someone who actually_ cares_, but it's good enough. "And _I _wanted to say, that..." You sigh, moving your wrist somewhat because you just want to _do _something. "He's a good man. He deserves a lot. And you have a lot, you have a lot of good in your life right now." You realize that you don't really know her, that she very well may have a bunch of bad in her life, but frankly you don't care all that much. "So don't give it all up, okay? And don't - and don't hurt him, alright?"

You don't want them together. You don't want him to love _her _when he could love _you_. But you know what it's like to be loved and you know what it's like to not be loved and honestly, the feeling of not being loved is something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. You already know what it feels like, you're already living with that feeling, and you can handle it. You're strong enough to handle it. You'd rather feel it than be the reason somebody else does.

It seems to you that she wants to say something, but she refuses to say anything other than, "Alright." You nod at her and go back to watching the sunset, hoping she'll get the hint and leave.

She does, and you let out a deep breath once she stands. But then she says something else that makes your eyelids shut and your breathing slow and your heart start racing.

"It's good to have you back."

No, it's not.

And yet again, you have your proof.

_Everybody lies._


	5. Chapter 5

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 5.**

_"Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit  
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet"  
- Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare_

"Interrogation room in three hours," Gibbs says into your ear as he walks past you. They just got a new lead on their case, and he's the last one in the elevator. You aren't going, because of an appointment with your new shrink. You aren't sure if you would be going regardless, but it makes you feel better to think that the only reason you have to stay behind is because of therapy.

You check the time. Three hours and you have to be in the interrogation room with Gibbs. One hour and you have to be upstairs talking to some old man who you can only imagine has a beer belly, bad breath, and needs his own therapist. He'll tell you what kind of "progress" you've made since you've come back. He'll tell you everything you need to work on, everything you need to stop, everything you've been doing wrong, every thought process you need to change, every little detail about yourself that isn't quite perfect. He'll act like he knows you even though he doesn't. It's safe to say that you hate therapy.

You jab the down arrow outside the elevator and wait. You don't want to go talk to him. You don't want to go talk to anyone. Well, okay, that's not quite true - you _are _stepping into the elevator to go see Abby, and goodness knows she'll be talking - but he's going to want to talk about everything that's happened. You don't want to talk about _that. _Nobody needs to know and you don't _want _anybody to know. It's none of their damn business what happened. True as that may be, though, you know you will be required to tell him at least some of it and, if he's anything like you last therapist, he'll be more interested in the worst stuff.

You walk into Abby's lab and as soon as she sees you, she grins. "Kate!" she says excitedly, like she almost didn't expect you to show up a second day.

You can't help but smile at how happy she is. It makes you feel just a little bit wanted, like you aren't completely out of place and despised. "Hey."

She waves you further into the room. You lean up against the big metal table, and end up running your finger across the surface absentmindedly. "Well, we're working on a case right now," she tells you, even though you already know, "so I've got a few tests to run, but you can stay and talk if you want."

You nod in understanding, despite her back being turned to you as she enters something into her computer. "What's the case?"

Abby slides the folder over to you and as you open it, she starts talking. "They found fingerprints on the gun we think was used killed him," she informs you. The computer beeps and you hear her click a few times. "They belong to a Michael Washburn." She reaches for her cell phone - to call Gibbs, probably - but your breath hitches in your throat and your heart starts pounding against the restraints of your chest.

"Michael Washburn?" you repeat, as if waiting for her to tell you that no, that's not right, it's somebody else.

"Michael Washburn," she confirms, placing her phone by the keyboard. You watch her click on a few things, then sigh in frustration. "He's in the army, and he just got back, but it doesn't tell where he went or for how long!" She types something in, clicks a few more times, then gives up. "It won't let me in," she says, but you figure she's talking more to herself now.

You set the file down on the table. Abby is still looking at the computer, but you shake your head anyway. "He came back from Kuwait about two weeks ago," you say softly, your voice starting to crack. She spins around to face you, studying you carefully with confusion and surprise. "I don't know when he went over."

"You know him?" she asks cautiously.

You nod. "He was one of the soldiers assigned to protect me."

"During the mission?"

You shake your head. "When they smuggled me back."

----

The seat you're sitting in is nowhere as comfortable as it should be, and you can't help but shift uncomfortably in it. Dr. Orner watches you carefully, like he has been for the past three minutes, and you wonder how long it will be before he starts to talk. Because really, you aren't going to be the one to to do it.

Luckily, you don't have to wait long. "So you told Ms. Scuito you knew the main suspect in this case?" he asks, watching you over the top of his glasses. He's definitely old - well, probably in his mid- to late-fifties - but there is no beer belly and you aren't close enough to know if he has good or bad breath.

"I do."

"He protected you, correct?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel about him possibly being a murderer?"

"He's a soldier."

"Yes, I know, but--"

You sigh. He doesn't get it, obviously. "He's a soldier who's been in a war zone and was sent to protect me from goodness knows how many people who want to kill me. I would be highly surprised if he _has_n't killed anyone yet."

"Oh." Orner writes something down in the notebook he's holding. It's probably something about what you just said, or your body language, or some other sort of profiling, psychological information he'll use against you later. "Did you know him very well?"

"We spent five days together, him and me and three other guys. We talked some." You pull your feet up until they're resting on the chair and your knees are touching your chest.

"Tell me about him."

You shrug. "There's not much to tell. We talked, told each other about our lives and the shit we've been through." After you say it, you wonder if it's a good idea to cuss to the man who's trying to tell if you're mentally stable - then you simply figure, _to hell with it. _"He told me a lot, I told him some. It wasn't a big deal, really. We just sort of... vented to each other, I guess."

"What kind of stuff did you tell him?"

"Bits and pieces of the mission, but mostly about my life before it."

"Tell me about the mission."

_Of course it ends up there._

You stare at your knees and sigh, trying to find the right words to use. "After... everything with Ari," you begin, "and the threats, they - the people in charge - decided it wasn't a good idea for me to be here anymore. There were so many people after me because of him, wanting to put a bullet through my skull, or worse. Witness protection was an option, but it didn't really seem that effective, and then they told me about the mission. I chose that instead. I didn't like the idea of running from him, especially when it would be so damn easy for him to find me. The mission actually let me _do _something about it."

"Like what?"

"I was supposed to, uh, _take out_ a few terrorists. I was supposed to be able to get to Ari's family, kill some of them. I was supposed to finally make my way to the Mossad leader, get some information, maybe cut a deal if everything went well..."

"Why do you say 'supposed to'?"

You wince as he throws your words back at you. "Because it didn't end up like that at all," you answer honestly. "Those were the main parts of the mission, but everything ended up going wrong. Although, I guess, it ended up better in the end. It's - I mean, there's a lot to it. It's really... It's complicated. I got sent over with this other guy - Archer - but Ari managed to figure out what plane I was on. When the plane landed - I can't even remember what county we were in - he and a few other men kidnapped us. I thought I was going to die, that Ari was going to just kill me..." You stop talking, instead making patterns on the chair's fabric with your fingers.

"But he didn't," Orner says as soon as he realizes you won't continue on your own.

"Right. Instead, he made me watch them torture Archer, trying to get any information they could from him. He was so fucking stupid, too! He gave them everything they wanted, with barely even being beat. God, I was so mad at him..." You push back the tears before they even fully form in your eyes. "As soon as they had everything they wanted, they killed him. They had me watch, wouldn't let me close my eyes. Then they - they made me sleep in the same room with him that night..." Your hand tightens into a fist beside your hip. "After that, they started torturing me. Rape. Beating. Whatever they wanted. Then, uh, then Ari came back here. Back to the States, because he wanted Gibbs. He wanted to _kill _Gibbs. He wanted to watch him suffer, he wanted to tell Gibbs about me and see the look on his face."

"But Ziva killed him."

"Yeah, but that was only because of Mossad."

"Who told you that?"

"I overheard it."

"From who?" Orner is still jotting things down in his notebook, and you stare at his frantically moving pen. Usually, you would feel uncomfortable, awkward, and even a little paranoid because of it, but you can't summon up those feelings right now.

"After Ari died, his friends or whatever they were took me to this other place. I don't know where it was, really, but more people started coming in and asking me questions and taunting me. Eli David was there a few times. He talked to the first three or four guys, and I started hearing about Ziva. I remembered Shepherd telling me that name when she mentioned my replacement."

"Shepherd?" He stops writing and looks at you curiously.

"Yes. Jenny Shepherd. I had to meet with her a few times before I left, so she would know about the mission in case I came back." You sigh. "But, anyway, they started talking about Ziva. That was one of the things I heard. I mean, I'm glad she did, but..." You straighten up. "Anyway, I manage to get out of there and to this little town. It was hard, probably one of the hardest fucking things I've ever done. I managed to get to a phone, and I called NCIS. I was telling them to get Shepherd, to tell her that I was still alive, but they told me Shepherd was dead and thought I was just prank calling. I was in that place for about a week. I kept trying to call, kept trying to get them to send help, but nobody would." You laugh bitterly. "That's what sucks about top secret operations. Nobody's around if you need them. But, well, Harel and a few others found me and took me back."

"Harel?"

"One of the kidnappers."

Orner nods. "So how did you complete the mission, if you were always captured?"

You run your fingers over your cast. "They got a little too comfortable with me. I don't know how else to describe it. Cocky, maybe, or relaxed. They didn't do a good job."

"So you broke out."

"Not exactly. It doesn't really even matter, though."

"Why not?" he asks, just as the timer goes off, nearly drowning out his voice. You stand; your hour is up. You didn't want to tell him about the mission, but you have to admit that it helped you sort some things out in your own mind. You don't feel any better about it, but you feel like you can think clearer now.

Your hand rests on the doorknob, and you wonder if maybe you should answer his question before you go. You pull the door open, step halfway out, then decide that _no, _you don't really want to answer.

----

You keep your back straight as you stare into the mirror. You know they're back there, watching you. You won't bother asking Gibbs because you know he'll lie, you know he'll tell you that nobody's back there. But that can't be true; they would all be too interested to pass this up. It's like a free ticket to a live TV show, right?

The door opens and in steps Gibbs, the infamous cup of coffee in his hand. You snort out a puff of air. Of course he has his coffee, when hasn't he? It wouldn't surprise you at all if he turned out to have some sort of addiction.

He sits down in front of you, lightly placing the paper cup onto the table. From what you remember, when interrogating a suspect he placed it down with a lot more force than that. Is he trying to make you feel comfortable, or something?

You take in a deep breath. Now you're over-analyzing. It does seem a little odd, though, that he would choose the _interrogation_ room. Well, unless it really _is _for other people to watch. In which case, why not do it in the bullpen?

"How have you been, Kate?" Gibbs asks gently. He's staring at you, studying you, considering you, taking every little detail in. You aren't sure why, there's no question that it's really you - you, who was afraid of the dentist; you, who stayed with Tony when he nearly died; you, who was willing to take a _bullet _for him, because that first shot wasn't part of the plan - but he won't tear his eyes away.

"Great," you say, and you're sure he can tell it's a lie. You don't bother trying to lie well with that one. Just the word in response to such a question screams 'sarcasm.'

"We've missed you."

You just nod, though everything in you screams _I've missed you too._

"It's been a long four years," he says, and his hand reaches out and grabs his coffee cup. He doesn't drink from it, merely taps his fingers against it in patterns, and you figure that even _he, _the stony _Gibbs, _is nervous. It amazes you.

His eyes meet your's and you see concern, kindness, care. You see all of those things that you would have expected to see four years ago, when you were still a part of his team and his life. Your first reaction is to be happy - he still _cares, _after all, if you're going by his eyes - but then you remember that conversation you had with him all those years ago.

He told you, _"Eyes lie."_

Why should you believe them now? Sometimes you just have to assume. You just have to protect yourself from any damage that could be dealt, any pain that could be caused. Now, you've decided, is one of those times.

_Everybody lies, _and sometimes you just have to take a guess.


	6. Chapter 6

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 6.**

_"He that is strucken blind cannot forget  
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost"  
- Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare_

A sigh escapes his lips as he watches you. You look right back at him, unwavering. As long as he wants to do this, whatever _'this' _is - some sort of staring contest, you guess - you'll do it. You aren't backing down, not this time. You backed down so many times before, back when you were still "Their Kate" - that's what you've decided to call yourself, or at least the way you were four years ago - but now you aren't Their Kate anymore, you're... _Who the hell am I?_

Ari's Kate? Mossad's Kate? Life's Kate? It could be any one of those and so many more, but you want to be Their Kate again. You can't be and you won't be and you know that, but you still _want_ to be.

Finally, he switches his gaze from you to his coffee cup. As soon as he does this you know that you've won. No, not won. Maybe it just proves that you've lost. You've lost who you used to be and essentially who you _are. _You have lost everything that ever made them like you, that ever made them want to be around you, and that ever made them want them to be your friend. _You _are_ lost._

But you've proven yourself. You've proven to Gibbs and to anyone sitting behind that mirror that you are different. Their Kate would have tried to do what you just did, but failed. Their Kate always gave in to Gibbs, always let him win, always did what he said. Their Kate let go of her morals, went against her beliefs, on more than one occasion because Gibbs said so. That's not you anymore.

Because you just succeeded in out-staring Gibbs. The _almighty _Gibbs who used to be scarier and more intimidating than anybody you knew. You didn't give in, you didn't let him win, you didn't look away. _He_ looked away, _he_ gave in. You're not doing what he says anymore, and morals? You don't have any morals anymore, and you aren't so sure if you can believe in anything, either.

"Look, Kate, I didn't bring you in here to--"

"What was it you wanted to know about?" you interrupt, not wanting to hear him tell you he doesn't want to 'interrogate' you. Or 'make you uncomfortable' or whatever the hell it is he was going to say. You just want him to get to the point.

"I wanted to..." He trails off, his expression unreadable as he stares at his coffee. Then his eyes move up to meet yours. "I just wanted to talk," he says lamely. "I wanted to see how you were."

"You wanted to question me about the mission."

"Not like that."

You scoff. "Like what, then, Gibbs?"

He just looks at you. If the staring didn't prove that you aren't the same, well, he's certainly starting to realize that now. You feel bad, just a little bit, but you can't help it. "What can you tell me about Washburn?" And there he goes, changing the subject. Fine. You can deal with that.

"What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Anything. Motive, personality issues, signs of disorders. Anything helpful."

You shrug. "I don't know anything. He's a soldier, Gibbs. I'm sure there's tons of motive."

"Did he ever say anything to you about killing anybody?"

You rack your brain, trying to think if maybe, _maybe _he did mention something. Somebody he hated. Somebody he wanted to see dead. You don't know why he would tell you something like that, but maybe, just maybe he did --

_The man in front of you looks at you in disbelief. The anger and disgust is evident all over his face. You can't believe you just told him that, you can't believe that you just let somebody else _know _about something like that happening to you. There are tears in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You instead focus on the tensing of his muscles, the way his fists are getting tighter and tighter with each passing moment, the fury flashing through his eyes, the way his jaw is clenched --_

_"I can't fucking believe that," he says, his voice low and nearly murderous. "That's - God, people like that deserve to fucking _die."

_You just shrug at him, telling him there's nothing anybody can do about it. Michael shakes his head, says there's _always_ something that can be done, and then asks you a few questions._

_You answer each of them honestly, or at least as honestly as you can bear to, and then he nods. He accepts your answers, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as the information processes. You just told him about the way you were taken, about how they chose you, about the people who took you. And that rage is still resting in his eyes, but you don't think anything of it._

"Who was the victim?" you ask suddenly, and you're sure that Gibbs can tell you know something simply by the way you changed the subject.

He watches you carefully, but answers anyway. "Petty Officer Rol--"

"No, no, not the name. Name doesn't matter." You sigh. "What's his race?"

"He's an Arab, I think," Gibbs answers. "He was born in New--"

"Family in Israel?"

"Yes." He looks annoyed at being interrupted twice, but he also looks interested and concerned. "Do you know something, Kate?"

"I know that I need to go." And with that, you stand up and dart out the door, leaving a stunned Gibbs in your wake. You run straight to the stairs, hearing the door open up behind you and Tony yell something. You ignore him and take the stairs two at a time. You have to get out of here, you have to find Michael, you have to make sure he didn't do what you think he did...

You push open the door and keep running until you're in the bullpen. You go straight for your phone, go through the contact list until you find the number you need, and press send just as the elevator doors open.

With the receiver pressed to your ear, you're practically begging him to answer as Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, and McGee come closer to you. It's still ringing and you need, need, _need_ him to answer, you need to know...

Tony's the first one over to you and he reaches for your phone. You twist away from him just as Gibbs tells him to wait and you hear Michael say "Hello?" in your ear.

"Hey, Michael, it's Kate," you start, noticing how rushed and anxious and desperate your words are as they leave your mouth. You only hope he can understand you.

"Oh, Toddie!" he realizes. You forgot that he started calling you that, because you refused to let him call you Katie. "Something wrong?"

"I just - has anybody from NCIS contacted you yet?" You glance up at the others, take a step back, and pray like hell that they let you finish this phone call.

"Uh, no. Why would they?"

"Suspect in a murder case, your fingerprints on a gun," you spill out. He has to be able to understand that. "You didn't - you didn't do what I think - what you said..." There is silence on the other end and you can't hear anything but the pounding of your heart in your ears. "Michael! Just tell me that you didn't..."

"I can't do that, Toddie," he says softly. Your breath hitches in your throat and you take another step back. "I told you, didn't I? They deserve to die, there's always something that can be done..."

"Something like that could ruin your life!"

"Something like what they did already ruined two."

Your hands are shaking and you're struggling to get words out, struggling to find words to even use. You can't wrap your mind around it, he was such a good guy and he just wanted to make the world a better place.. Why would he do something like this? Why would he decide to do that? It wasn't fixing anything, it just gave him a place behind bars...

"I'll turn myself in, okay, Toddie?" He cares. He really, really cares about you. You can tell from his tone of voice. He just wanted to help you... "I've got something to show you, too. I'll be there soon, alright?"

"Alright," you whisper, even though he's already hung up and you're practically speaking to the air. You close your phone and let it fall to the ground. They all still stare at you. Waiting.

"What did he say, Kate?" Gibbs finally asks.

"He's coming." You stumble towards the wall, just to have something to lean on. "Don't - don't arrest him right away. Let him... Let me talk to him first, okay?"

"We can't --" Tony starts, but Gibbs cuts him off.

"Okay."

And then you wait. In silence. Tony takes to watching the elevator. Gibbs goes to his desk. McGee and Ziva just stand there and _watch _you.

You don't want to tell them. But you know Michael will come in, and he will end up explaining, or what he has to show you will have something to do with it and then you'll be screwed. You're trying to prepare yourself but you know it won't work all that well. At least you have the tears under control, finally.

It feels like years before the elevator doors finally slide open and Michael walks in, followed by a police officer. "He says he has a confession to make," the officer says, to which Tony nods. Tony takes Michael by the shoulder and shoves him in your direction, earning a glare from you.

You aren't sure what to say, so you both just sort of stare at each other for a few moments. Then Gibbs intervenes, shouting "We don't have all day!" from his desk. You open your mouth to speak but Michael beats you to it.

"Toddie," he says slowly. Tony looks at him in disbelief, more than likely at the nickname, which already has tears springing to your eyes. "I'm sorry, I was trying to help..."

You nod. "I know, Michael." You really don't know what to say to him, but you tense up when he reaches into his pocket, pulling out something white.

He hands you the folded-up envelope. "I found this in the guy's house," he says. "It's how I knew..." You can see him swallow hard as he runs a hand through his hair. "There's a picture and some letters in there."

"Is it...?"

"Yeah. It's him, Toddie, it's definitely him." A small smile breaks onto his face. "He's alive. I don't know if it's a good thing --"

"No, yeah, it's a good thing." A tear slides out of your eye as you grin at him. "Michael, I..."

"I know." He pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tightly you feel like he's about to crush your bones. But you hug him back just as tightly as you can, breathing him in. He doesn't deserve to go to prison, not like this.

"I'll visit you. I promise," you tell him, noticing hot tears start running down your cheeks. _Why the hell am I letting him see me cry? _you ask yourself, but you already know. It's all in the envelope. He was trying to help you. He was trying to make everything seem a little bit better for you. If he hadn't done this, you know you would have been great friends; he already feels almost like a brother to you. You don't know why, but he does.

"I'll hold you to that," he jokes, a smile still gracing his face as you two separate. Michael takes a step back, like he's going to give himself to Tony now, then he stops. "Oh, and Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"They don't plan to." He puts his hand on your arm, rubbing up and down. "I don't know what they're doing, but they aren't hurting him. Probably raising him in father's footsteps, but... They aren't hurting him."

"Thank you," you whisper. "I don't know how to repay you. You shouldn't have to go through all of this..."

He just shakes his head. "I would have wanted somebody who was willing to do this with Robbie and Rachel." You had almost forgotten that his wife and son had been kidnapped and killed. "I would do it over again in a heartbeat. You don't have to repay me."

"Thank you," you repeat. There's nothing more that you can think of to say. The tears are blurring your vision, but you can still tell that he's smiling sadly at you.

Michael takes a few steps back and offers his hands out to Tony, who wastes no time in handcuffing him. Tony forces him roughly back towards the elevator, no mercy at all in the way he's pushing. McGee follows him slowly, sending you a confused and sympathetic but still unbelieving glance.

The elevators open, and Tony tries to push him in. Michael resists, though, turning back to look at you with a disgruntled Tony trying to pull him through the doors. "Bye, Toddie," Michael says softly, giving you one last smile before stepping into the elevator with Tony and McGee.

The doors slide closed and you look down at the envelope in your shaking hands. You can't believe this, you can't believe he's still alive...

"What was that all about?" Gibbs asks as he makes his way towards you and Ziva. You hadn't noticed her since before Michael came in.

You wave the envelope slightly without lifting it any higher than it already is. "This," you say absentmindedly. "It was all about this..."

"What is it?"

You carefully open the envelope, then pull out the photograph Michael had been talking about. A young boy, nearly three years old, stares back at you, an obviously forced smile on his face. You can barely make out the stains of tears on his dirty face, but his green eyes are sparkling with a light you are sure yours no longer possess. His short brown hair looks more like Ari's than yours, and you hate that, but he definitely has your nose and your ears and your eyes. He's big for his age, tall, with skin a slightly darker color than yours and a slightly lighter color than Ari's, and extremely skinny - you doubt that they've been feeding him enough, and that simple knowledge is enough to make your blood boil.

You're careful to keep the picture far away enough from your eyes so that your tears don't get on it. You don't want your only picture of him to be ruined.

"Who is that?" Gibbs asks, and it's in that moment that you realize he's been asking you questions ever since you opened the envelope.

You don't say anything.

"Kate!"

The force in Ziva's voice makes you turn around to face her. "What?" you demand weakly.

"The Director wants to see you," she says, but the way she says it and the way she's messing with her hands lets you know that she's just providing an out.

_Everybody lies, _and sometimes it's the only way out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 7.**

_"I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano -  
A stage, where every man must play a part;__  
And mine a sad one."__  
- The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare_

It is nowhere near being comfortable, but it's the only place you could think of where you could be alone. You're sitting on a dirty tile floor between a smelly toilet and a metallic silver divider, your head resting on the off-white wall behind you. You're eyes are closed, but the image of how dirty this bathroom is is still imprinted in your brain. You make a mental note to tell Director Vance to hire some better janitors. As you do so, though, you know it's nothing more than you stalling; you know you will forget before you even walk out of this stall.

The envelope is still in your hand. You can't bring yourself to look at the letters, or at least you haven't been able to yet. You know you need to. You need to know whatever is contained in those letters. It could hold some sort of important information, some sort of hints to his whereabouts and his condition...

You're in the process of reopening the envelope when you hear the door swing open, followed by hesitant footsteps. "Kate?" you hear Ziva call quietly as she approaches the stalls, looking under the doors to see if there are any feet. More specifically, to see if she can see _your_ feet.

"I'm here," you say, though you aren't sure why. You don't feel like talking and it's not like it would have been a secret for long; she's only two stalls away from where you are, so she would have reached you in about five seconds anyway. And yet you felt compelled to answer her.

"Are you okay?"

What kind of a question is that? Of course you aren't okay. You're sitting on the bathroom floor holding a piece of paper that has the possibility to destroy you, if you aren't destroyed already, while the man who did what he thought was the right thing to do is on his way to jail. They are letting _them _win. They are letting_ them _get away with everything. They are practically telling _them _"we're on your side!" and you want nothing more than to be able to scream at them for that.

But you won't let yourself break down. You _can't _let yourself. You have to be strong, not weak. You have to be careful, not rash. You have to _succeed, _not fail.

"I'm fine."

She's in front of the stall door now. As far as you know, she's just standing there. Probably waiting for you to let her in. Does she really expect you to do that? Why would you?

Even as those thoughts run through your mind you push yourself up off the ground and undo the door's lock. The door swings open and, _hey_, there she is. You go back to the wall and slide down, ending up in nearly the exact same position you were in before.

Ziva tilts her head to the side slightly. "You do not look fine."

_Why, thank you, Captain Obvious, _runs through your head, but you say nothing. Instead you focus on the envelope, trying to block her out of your mind. She needs to know, _deserves _to know, but you don't want to tell her.

"Was he your son?" she asks, and now you no longer have much of an option.

"Yes," you say, refusing to meet her gaze. "He's my son." Then you swallow, your free hand grasping at the floor. "Your... Your nephew."

Slowly, you lift your eyes until the lock with hers. You wonder if she knows or if she believes what she has been told. Certainly, she can't be _that_ naive - or can she? You hope not. You don't want to have to explain. You don't want her to be excited and happy that she has a nephew, thinking that you and Ari _wanted_ a child.

"Congratulations," she says, but it's cold and distant and almost like she's trying to make it seem like she doesn't care at all. It makes you wonder what all she has been through. It makes you wonder what sort of things she has seen. It makes you wonder if she knows more than anybody realizes. It makes you wonder if her life has been so messed up that _you _should be feeling sorry for _her._

Because you don't want _her_ feeling sorry for _you._

Should you feel sorry for each other? Or not at all?

It makes you wonder what your son's aunt is like. You are tied to this woman in more ways than one and yet you have a feeling that you only know half of her story, much like you are sure she only knows bits and pieces of your story. You only know what you have seen and what you have been told. She can only know what she has seen and what she has been told.

You find yourself hoping that she doesn't know as much about you as you know about her. You find yourself praying that she has no idea about any of the things her family put her through.

As twisted as it sounds in your own head, you want her to know as much about what you have been through as you know about what your son has been through. No, less. You know enough to take a guess about what they're doing to your son.

"It almost didn't happen." You tear your gaze away from hers and rest it instead on the envelope. "They just about killed him before he was even born." You move your hand from the envelope and let it fiddle with your necklace, even though the cast makes it slightly more difficult than usual. "They didn't... _We_ didn't know about him yet."

She remains silent. She watches you, almost encouraging you to continue just by that look in her eyes.

And so you do. "Ari didn't even meet him." _He was dead before he got the chance. _"I'm still trying to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing."

You look back up at her and she nods ever-so-slightly, a fractional dip of her head, that lets you know you can keep going if you want to. She's here to listen.

"It's just... If he lived, if he got to meet him, maybe he would have done something. Maybe he could have said something to make them change the way they're treating him. Maybe Ari could have let him have a _real _life. Or maybe, maybe he just would have made it worse. Maybe as his dad he would have wanted them to make him worker harder at whatever it is he's working at. Maybe he would have wanted him to be more important, more... more..."

You can't figure out what word you want to use next. No words are coming to you, nothing is standing out, nothing works. Nothing means what you want to say and you hate that. If all of these admissions weren't enough to make you feel weak and vulnerable, not having a damn _word _sure makes it enough.

"I didn't even get the chance to name him," you add suddenly. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, so you decide to elaborate. "I mean, I had names I liked. I had names to choose from. But I wasn't going to name him until I saw him, and..." You swallow as a tear starts to make its way down your cheek. "I had him. I had him, and then they took him. I barely even got to see his face before they took him away from me. I saw him every-so-often after that. In passing, or when they put him through the window and made me watch..."

"Watch?" she finally asks, but her voice is so low and quiet you almost wonder if you just imagined her speaking.

"Watch them take care of him." More or less, that's true. You watched them feed him and bathe him and change his diapers, but you watched them scream in his face and hold him too tightly and... You grasp at the fabric of your pants, needing something you can hold onto tightly. "I don't know what they named him. I don't know my own son's _name._"

"Maybe it is in the letters," she whispers, and you watch as she walks into the stall and crouches down beside you. "Maybe it is in there."

You nod, because she's right. Maybe his name is some where in that mass of words, written down on a slip of paper. You need to look, but your hands are shaking and you can't bring yourself to reach for it...

"Can you?" you ask, your voice shaking just as much as your body.

She looks at you for a moment, then nods, cautiously reaching out and taking the envelope from your lap. Ziva slides the papers out, setting the picture carefully on the ground beside her. She unfolds a piece of paper, her eyes quickly scanning over the words. She sits down, then looks at you again. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

You shake your head. "No." You won't be able to handle that, not yet. "Just... A name? Is he okay?"

"They like him," she says after a moment. "They named him 'Adif.' It means 'favorite.' It says he is doing well... He is strong for his age." She continues scanning through the letter, and you're sure there are important things she is choosing not to voice. You'll have to read it yourself soon, but for now, this is good enough for you. "It says he is too much like his mother," she adds, glancing at you for a quick second. "Too resistant. Sometimes he does not do as he is told."

Right now, you wish he wasn't so much like you.

And Adif? That name... It doesn't suit him. It doesn't sound right, not to you. _You _should have been able to name him, you should have been able to...

"It says they have caught him crying, when he thinks he is alone. He never cries in front of the others, even when they cry."

_The others?_

She slips the paper back into the envelope and starts to take out the other letter, but you stop her by placing your hand on top of hers. "It's okay," you say softly. "That's... Thank you."

Ziva nods. She slides the picture back into the envelope and closes it for you, then pushes herself up. She starts to walk away but stops when she reaches the stall door and turns back around to face you. "Ari would not have stopped them," she tells you quietly. "He may have wanted to, but he would not have tried."

"Okay." You stand as well. You know what she just did - now you don't have to wonder anymore. It's not the answer you would have most liked to hear, but it's an answer all the same and you're glad that you got one. "Thank you," you say again.

"Anytime."

She walks away and you watch her. The air of confidence you have always seen around her is still there, but now you wonder what it is that made her so confident. The door swings closed behind her and as it snaps closed, the words snap into your brain.

_Aunt Ziva._

That is your son's _aunt._

Your son's aunt is dating Tony.

At one point, you could have seen Tony being the father of your children.

At this point, it looks far more likely that he will be your only son's _uncle._

And then you bang your right hand, bandaged as it is, against the stall door. Pain shoots through it and you wince, but you _like _the pain. You _deserve_ the pain.

Your son is halfway across the world having God-knows-what being done to him and your thoughts, if only for a moment, were more concerned with _Tony._

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

----

You walk down the stairs and it feels like all eyes are on you, even though Tony refuses to look at you, Gibbs is more concerned with his banging his cell phone against his desk, and McGee is leaning over his keyboard with his nose only inches away from the computer monitor. Ziva is the only person in the room looking at you, besides from a few glances you got from some of the other teams' members. You lock eyes with her and she gives you a small smile, and you aren't sure if something happened in that bathroom and you just weren't aware of it.

Did that little exchange suddenly make you friends? Are you "buddies" now? Are you supposed to like her, just because she listened to you and read you a letter?

Because honestly, you don't know. You don't know if you want to be friends with her, you don't know if you're glad she listened to you, you aren't sure that her reading you the letter was a good thing. You don't know if you like her or hate her. You don't know how you are _supposed_ to feel.

You slow down, giving yourself more time. You take another glance at the dark-skinned woman sitting at your old desk and try to decide. You try to figure out who you see.

You see Ziva David, half-sister of the monster who got you to this point and daughter of the man who took the job of fucking you up over when his son died.

You see Ziva David, your replacement in the hearts and minds and lives of your old friends.

You see Ziva David, Gibbs' new mentee and Abby's new best friend.

You see Ziva David, Tony's girlfriend.

You see Ziva David, a woman who has probably killed more people than any of them realize. A woman who has probably done worse than they would ever believe.

You see Ziva David, a woman who you have heard more about than you should and know more about than you should and out of all of the things you've heard, very few have been good.

But then you look away, blink, and look back. And this time you see someone else.

You see Ziva David, the person who helped your old friends move on with their lives.

You see Ziva David, a woman who has helped put many murderers behind bars.

You see Ziva David, Abby's new best friend and Gibbs' new mentee, and the fact that she is trusted by Abby and Gibbs must mean something, right?

You see Ziva David, your son's aunt. Family.

So you aren't sure if you're supposed to like her or hate her or be somewhere in between. There is no simple answer and no simple reasoning behind either.

You reach the bottom of the stares and Gibbs finally looks up at you, and you finally look back at him, and then you are both looking at each other. Staring, almost. Until you break the contact to look at his hand, which is currently waving you over. You swallow hard and walk over to him, feeling Ziva's and Tony's eyes follow you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you reach him, and you nod because you don't know what else to do. Should you thank him? You aren't sure what good that would do, but... "And, I'm here if you need to talk," he adds before you decide. Again, you just nod. This time, though, you know you're supposed to thank him. You haven't completely forgotten your manners, it hasn't been quite that long.

"Thanks."

He nods and you know it means your conversation has ended so you step back and walk towards the elevator. You figure you may as well go see Abby, you may as well go see the one person who actually _wants_ you there.

Ah, well. So what if they don't want you there? There's nothing you can do about it now. This is the world you live in and you can't do a damn thing about it. These are the cards you've been dealt and these are the cards you have to play with. This is your part in this world and this is the part you have to play. You are where you are for a reason and you _have_ to believe in that, because if you don't, you aren't sure what else you have to believe in. Everything will be okay if you can make it through. Or maybe it won't. You don't know. But what you do know is this is what you have to work with and this is what you _will_ work with. You've accepted it, you're going to make the best of it, you will make everything okay.

_Everybody lies._

Sometimes you end up lying to yourself.


	8. Chapter 8

A/n: This one's shorter, I know, and I apologize - but I'm actually kind of happy with it. Especially the end. (: Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 8.**

_"Thou canst not teach me to forget"  
- Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare_

_

* * *

  
_

_It feels like you are soaring through the air for hours before you finally hit the ground. Pain shoots through your shoulder as it breaks your fall and you grit your teeth to keep from crying out. It hurts, but you won't give them that satisfaction. That is the only strand of control, of willpower, you have left. You cannot let go of it, not yet._

_They will be standing over you in just a few seconds so you don't bother trying to move. You could swear you heard something snap. Or was it a pop? You already can't remember. Maybe there wasn't a noise at all. Maybe your mind is starting to play tricks on you. You wouldn't be surprised. It was bound to happen eventually. But, _oh God, _that is the last thing you need right now._

_You hear, more than see, them coming towards you. You manage to brace yourself just before you receive a strong kick in the stomach. There are no other hits following it and you can't help but be surprised by that. Usually there is more than this. Usually they like to squeeze, to punch, to grab. You cannot remember the last time they only threw and kicked you. You can't remember if there _was_ a last time._

_You feel hot, steady breathing on your cheek and force your eyes open. You feel more tired than you ever have before and that makes the simple task of opening your eyes difficult, but somehow you manage. Ari looks back at you with that awful, twisted smile on his face that makes you want to throw up at the mere thought of it. His hand reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you order yourself not to flinch at the contact. You do anyway._

_His fingers trail along your cheek and you let your eyes close. It's a mixture of exhaustion and really, really not wanting to look at him that drives you to squeeze your eyelids tightly together. Soon enough, though, they're relaxing and you almost fall asleep right there, with at least two other men standing around you and Ari's hand lingering on your face. But you are unbelievably tired and you know better than anyone that this isn't going to end anytime soon. You suddenly don't feel like fighting anymore. This will be the first time you haven't bothered fighting back, but it hasn't done you any good so far and you can feel yourself slipping way as time goes on._

_It would be wrong to say "slipping away day by day" because you aren't sure how long you've been here. You think it would be safe to say it has been a few weeks at the very least, but what do you know? It could be shorter, probably longer. You want to say longer not because you have any good reasoning behind it but because you don't want to think they were able to break you in only a few weeks. You want to believe that you are stronger than that._

_Lips press against your temple and as your heart starts to race, you finally admit to yourself that no, you are not stronger than that. You are starting to come apart at the seams and you know he can tell. You know he is _enjoying _it. This is what he wants. You wish you were stronger than this but you aren't. You could try to fight back, but you don't have the willpower anymore. You don't have the drive and you don't have the strength. You are no match for three men, and even if you were still strong and healthy like you were back in the States before all of this happened, you wouldn't stand a chance._

_Ari yanks you to your feet and the room starts to spin. At least, what you can see of it starts to spin. The lighting is dim and your eyes are half-closed from the exhaustion. His breath is hot on the back of your neck and his skin is hot and sticky against your skin as he pushes you forward. You stumble, nearly tripping over your own feet, and you can't tell if it's because you can't see or he's pushing you too hard or you have become to weak to walk properly._

_A door closes behind you and there are two chuckles from somewhere around you. Ari moves his hand from your bare shoulder to your arm and --_

The skin is no longer hot and sticky. It is cold and smooth. The callouses you are used to feeling are no longer there. You feel the tips of nails gently touch your skin and think, _no, this can't be right, _because Ari's nails were always too short for that.

"Kate?" The soft, gentle call comes from right beside you. Ari's voice was always rough and he rarely called you Kate. It was always Katie or Caitlin.

You blink a few times and slowly the dark, dirty hallway fades away, replaced by Abby's bright, clean lab. It is _her_ hand on your arm and it is _her_ voice reaching your ears.

She is looking at you with concern and worry in her eyes. You aren't sure when it happened but Ducky has come to stand in front of you as well. You hadn't expected him to be here. You glance at the both of them as exhaustion starts to overtake you. Your shoulders begin to slump and your eyelids slide closed, but then you force your shoulders back and your eyes open. You have to stand tall. You have to remain alert, awake.

So far you have done a good job of holding the memories back, but you should have expected that they wouldn't stay back forever. They are starting to break through your carefully constructed walls, but you can't let them break through _you._ You have done too good of a job at pretending to be okay to let them do that.

Mentally, you scoff at yourself. Your wrist is broken because you slammed it against a wall. You broke down in front of Abby. You cried in front of everyone when Michael came to talk to you. You ran to the bathroom when you found out about your son. You had to get Ziva to read a _letter _to you because you couldn't manage to read it yourself. How is it that you are doing a good job, again?

"Are you okay?" Abby asks, and you realize that you haven't said a word since you walked in.

"Yeah," you answer, forcing a smile onto your face.

They both look at you skeptically. That wasn't enough for them. "You can tell us if something is wrong, Caitlin," Ducky reminds you. You simply nod.

Abby must notice that you don't want to talk about it because, thankfully, she changes the subject. You're glad that she still knows you well enough to let it drop. "So what brings you down here?" she asks, sweeping her arm out as if showing you the room for the first time.

You shrug. "I couldn't be up there anymore," you answer honestly. It is all just becoming too much to deal with, and you want to break down again. Well, you won't let yourself. You can't let yourself. You need to be strong, remain strong.

Abby nods. "Well, hey, you wanna help me and Ducky?"

"With what?"

"Babies!" Abby rushes to her computer and you watch her in confusion. Ducky laughs at your expression, then grabs your arm and leads you over to where Abby is standing. When you're beside her, she starts to explain. "We're picking out couples and finding out what the kids would look like."

It sounds like something you used to do with them - right? You're pretty sure you've done this before. You hate this not-remembering shit. You should know this stuff. It _is _your past, after all.

"Like, real couples?" you ask.

"No, really weird ones," she answers. "We did Gibbs and Ziva, and Ducky and Ziva, and me and Tony."

"How about Tony and McGee?"

She laughs before she even types it in. "Okay!" she says excitedly.

Ducky shakes his head in a way that usually accompanies the word "kids," but instead he says, "NCIS Agents." He chuckles softly, before going into a full-out laugh when the picture of the baby pops up on the screen. You and Abby join him in laughter, and when it dies down, you rest your chin on Ducky's shoulder. You catch him smile for a brief moment, and you see something in Abby's eyes - hope? happiness? - when she glances over and notices.

Then she exclaims, "McGee and Gibbs!" and types it into the computer.

"McGee and Gibbs what?" Gibbs demands as he pops up behind the three of you. Abby quickly closes out and you straighten your back as Ducky steps away.

"See you later, girls," Ducky calls as he disappears through the sliding doors.

Abby grins. "Nothing, Gibbs," she says with a final laugh, catching your eyes.

_Everybody lies, _and sometimes it's pointless but completely worth it at the same time.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry for the long wait everybody! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. But, before you read - I need your input! This could either end up being a Tate (Tony/Kate, and a happier ending for Kate) or a Tiva (Tony/Ziva, and a not-so-happier ending for Kate). It's up to you guys, so... Tell me what you think! (:

* * *

**Everybody Lies, Chapter 9.**

_"Is this her fault or mine?_  
_ The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?"  
- Measure for Measure, William Shakespeare_

_

* * *

_

It's not what you expected so when he shoves his lips onto yours, you find yourself trembling. Your now-sweaty hands are shaking as he pulls you closer, canceling any means of escape. He's backing you against the elevator wall, one hand on your waist and the other by your head.

No. You know you could pull away at any time and he would let you. Yet your heart is beating like its trying to force itself out of your chest and your head is so light you aren't sure if it's there at all. You want to focus on the kiss but your mind keeps flashing back to images of the past four years. You can't think of anything other than Ari's rough lips on yours, his large hand on your waist, his fist tangled up in your hair. Tony pushes his tongue in your mouth and you let him, because you don't know what else to do, but his taste is lost on your tongue since your mind won't let you forget about Ari's.

Something in you is telling you to stop acting like this. This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you have thought about for so long. You and Tony, finally getting the chance you deserve.

Then he pulls away and you can think clearer. The kiss was all passion and aggression and need. It wasn't about taking a chance, it was about lust. Want. Sealing doors that were left open all those years ago. Closure. It was more akin to what Ari did than what you want, though you know Tony would never do what Ari did. The look in his eyes has softened and you can't tell if it's regret or peace or disbelief and you tear your eyes away before you can decide. You don't really want to know - you'd rather have an idea in your head to turn to than the truth, if it turns out the truth is regret or disbelief. You don't want him to regret it, because if you had been able to focus on his kiss, _you_ wouldn't regret it.

When you first stepped onto the elevator beside him there was disgust in his eyes as he looked at you. It's been about four days since your little "fight" and you had yet to talk, so you didn't expect that to change. But then he jabbed the emergency button and turned to you with anger painted across his face. You honestly don't know what you had been expecting, but him yelling was certainly somewhere high on the list. So you weren't surprised when he started to shout.

He had jumped from one thing to the next as he shouted, going on and on about how he waited for you and how he was just starting to truly move on. He was screaming at you for making them think you were dead. He was blaming you for not telling him. He was yelling at you for just popping up like you did, because he had just started to move on and how was he not supposed to feel guilty now that you're back? He was pointing out all of your flaws, every little thing he remembers you doing that he hated. He hated the way you always yelled at him, the way he always had to explain what the abbreviations meant (though he had mumbled something to himself about it not being as bad as having to explain words and idioms, and you're still trying to figure out what the hell that means), the way you always thought you were right, the way you were always trying to prove you were better than him...

And then he kissed you.

And now he's staring at you, his breath hot in your face. You let your eyelids flutter closed. You don't know if you can handle this. This isn't what you signed up for when they brought you back. At least it's not what you were expecting. You don't know how long you stand there, his body inches away from yours, but you stay there until he puts his hand on your cheek. Then your eyes open and you look into his, and you aren't sure what you find there. There's too much emotion for you to even begin to pick them apart.

"I can't hate you," he says softly, and you think you see tears in his eyes, "no matter how hard I try. No matter how many reasons I have."

You swallow hard. You don't know what to say, how to react. You don't know what you're supposed to do now. He has Ziva, and you have... Well, you don't have anything. But he still has Ziva, and that's enough for you to know that this - whatever it is you two are doing right now - you shouldn't be doing it.

This time when he kisses you, it's slower, softer, and gentle. You are able to push thoughts of Ari and captivity to the side, at least enough to enjoy the kiss, to take in his taste and the feel of his lips against yours. You kiss him back and as you do, you realize you can't remember the last time you felt this way. Over four years ago, probably - the last time Tony's lips were touching yours, the last time you looked in his eyes, the last time his skin pressed against your skin.

Somehow his tongue ends up in your mouth and this time, you are vaguely aware that you let him in. He's pushing himself closer to you, and you're pulling him even closer, but then your hand hits the metal bar you're leaning on and you hiss in pain.

He jumps back instantly, and you bite your lip as you hold onto your wrist. "Are you okay?" he asks, and the concern in his voice more than makes up for the anger he was directing at you earlier. He presses the emergency button and the elevator starts to move again. "Let's go get, uh..." He doesn't even seem to know what he's trying to say as he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, uh, do you need anything?"

You find yourself giving him a small smile. "No, Tony, I'm fine," you assure him. "It's just a little pain, no big deal." He looks at you, unconvinced, and you know he's blaming himself. The guilt is written across his face.

"Are you sure you don't need Ducky to check it out? Or, I don't know, some pain pills or something?"

"I'm sure." The elevator doors slide open at the bullpen and you follow him out.

"I might have some Tylenol," he offers, and even though you're trying to tell him you're fine he's digging through his desk. After every drawer has been open and shut he groans in defeat. "Or maybe not."

"It's okay, Tony," you repeat. You hear Ziva's laugh as McGee talks about... Well, you aren't sure what about. From the sounds of it, it's some lame computer joke that you wouldn't be able to understand. Oh well.

They stop behind you as they see you and Tony together. They're surprised and you don't blame them, because hell, you're surprised too. You turn around to face them and plant a small smile on your face as you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"What's going on?" McGee asks, and Ziva looks at you like she's wondering the exact same thing. As far as McGee goes, you know he's wondering more along the lines of "what the hell happened that's got you two talking again?" Ziva, however, is probably thinking something more like, "you better not be doing anything like..." Like what, though? You have to stop that train of thought before it goes too far. Like what you _were_ doing?

You swallow and run a hand through your hair. This is going to be harder than you thought. Already you feel guilty, though you don't want to. You don't regret it and you would do it again if you had a chance, all of it - except, you would be smarter and not bang your hurt wrist against the wall. _Smooth move, Kate, _you tell yourself, because if this isn't awkward, you don't know what is.

"Just talkin'," Tony replies smoothly, but as you look back at him you can see that he's just as uncomfortable as you are. He spares you a quick glance and you aren't sure how to interpret it. You can see the guilt in the way he's standing, but you aren't sure if that means he wants to forget about it and take it all back. Does that mean he doesn't care now?

"I'm glad," McGee says with a smile as he moves over to his desk. You haven't talked to him all that much since you got back - you figure he's still trying to get used to the idea - but he seems to have accepted you back. You make a mental note to talk to him some more. You've missed him, too. You really liked him, and you were just starting to really get to know him when you "died." It'll be hard, but you want to try to rebuild that bond you had with him.

Ziva moves her gaze from Tony to you. You don't understand this woman at all - she seems like she's trying so hard to make you feel welcome here, even though you don't know each other at all. At first you thought it was just because she felt guilty over what her brother had done but she doesn't have a clue about Ari. She doesn't know a damn thing. She knows you have a kid with him but she doesn't know any of the details. Tony knows but now that you've told him you wish that you hadn't.

But she's trying so hard to make you feel like you belong here. You don't, and you know it, and you're sure that she knows it and everybody else knows it, but she's _trying. _She's trying. You don't belong here and she does, but you are still managing to take her life away from her piece by piece.

Or are you?

Sure, Tony kissed you in that elevator, but what's that matter now that you're out of it? Sure, Ari wasn't a good man, but what's that matter now that he's dead? And how do you know that she didn't know that? Sure, Ziva killed Ari because her dad told her to, because her dad wanted her to get closer to Gibbs, but who's to say that she would do something to betray their trust now? Maybe now that she has been here for so long and is a part of their family she realizes how big of a mistake that was.

"Are you two talking now?" she asks.

Tony shrugs. "I guess," he says, and you aren't sure how to take that. You're probably reading too much into it.

You can't stand here anymore, with her looking at the two of you not knowing what just happened. The guilt is tearing at your insides and you want to tell her, simply because you know so much about her and she's been so good to you. You don't think you should trust her, but you_ know_ that she shouldn't trust you so what difference does it make?

"I, uh... Abby told me to meet her down at her lab, so I'm just gonna..." You make some sort of hand gesture and start to make your way back to the elevator. Tony looks at you for a second too long and you take that as a good sign. You step into the elevator and hope to goodness that nobody saw the camera footage. And then you realize something else.

Abby doesn't know you're coming.

_Everybody lies._


End file.
